The Safe-Keeper's Secret (14 page)

Fiona, who would have said that she was the one better suited to caretaking, found that she could not bear the quiet vigils for long. She busied herself in the kitchen, cooking and canning; she made daily treks to Elminstra's to fetch more serums or a new soothing tea that the witch thought might ease Damiana's coughing. She tried making her own potions against pain, using cuttings brought back from Kate's garden, and stirred these into her mother's juice every morning. She greeted visitors at the door, and admitted them when she thought they might lift her mother's spirits, and turned them away when she was sure they would not. She would have sent them all away, every one—how dare they intrude on these last few weeks when there was so little time left—except that she could tell Damiana was renewed by the visits, made happy by the small attentions. But she watched in some jealousy as friends from the village sat and laughed with her mother, making her forget, however briefly, that she was sick, that she was dying. Fiona herself did not have that gift. She had love, and she had grief, and she had strength, but she did not have the ability to pretend.

At the end of every day, Reed would carry Damiana to her room, and Fiona would go in to ask if she needed anything else and talk over the day, as Damiana had always done with her. At these times, Fiona tried her best to speak lightly, to gossip about the villagers, and laugh when the subject seemed appropriate; she would see Damiana's face lighten, and she knew
exactly what her mother was thinking.
Fiona will survive this after all. She will be strong enough to continue when I am gone
. And every night, she tried to leave the room while her mother still had that look of hope on her face, and every night she would return to the main room and weep.

And every night Reed would come and sit beside her and put his arm around her waist and hold her until the tears stopped. “How can you be so strong?” she whispered to him one night, when she did not think she would ever be able to stop crying.

“It's the only thing I know how to do,” he said. “To take care of her, and take care of you.”

She wept even harder. “You should not have to take care of me, too! I at least should not be a burden.”

He kissed her on the top of her head. “No burden,” he murmured. “Love never is.”

Damiana was well enough to celebrate their birthday, which fell at the very end of summer or the very beginning of autumn, depending on how you calculated. She had slept most of the day, so she was almost lively at dinnertime when Reed carried her into the main room. Elminstra and one of her daughters and two of her grandchildren came with presents and a chocolate cake, and they had a very festive time of it. The event exhausted Damiana, though, and she slept straight through till noon the next day.

Thomas arrived about six weeks later. By this time, it was near the end, and Damiana was truly dying; death no longer kept any secrets from her. She had finally asked them to send for her sister, who had promised to come stay in the final days. Angeline had visited every week or two, but Fiona and Reed had always assured her they were managing just fine, they did not need any help, the situation was not desperate yet. And so she had gone back home, and Fiona and Reed had had another week with their mother, and another.

But she had grown so weak in the past few days that she could not move from her bedroom. Reed no longer carried her to the kitchen to take her meals, or out to the main room so she could watch the fire dancing on the hearth. He stayed and talked to her whenever she was awake; when she slept, he went outside and attacked with fierce energy whatever chore he had set himself for the day.

Fiona had sent for Angeline the day before and here she was, arriving with the Truth-Teller in tow.

“How is she?” Angeline demanded, tripping out of his wagon.

“Worse,” Fiona said. She was looking up at Thomas, a little frown on her face.

Angeline brushed past her without another word. Fiona still gazed up at Thomas. “I haven't seen her in two months,” he said, still sitting on the wagon seat with the reins in his hands. “I gave you that much time.”

“Are you going to stay?” she asked.

“It's up to you.”

“Up to my mother, you mean.”

He shook his head. “Your decision. You're the one who doesn't like me. I wouldn't want to trouble your last days with her.”

Fiona felt her shoulders sag. “She was asking about you just yesterday,” she said, turning away from him. “It will do her good to see you. You can stay as long as you like.”

He did not move, either to step down from the wagon or urge his horses forward so he could stable them in town. “Till the end?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, and walked on into the house without another glance in his direction.

Soon enough, they were all in the house together, Angeline in visiting with her sister, Fiona making the evening meal, Thomas and Reed in the main room talking before the fire. All they were missing was Isadora for it to be like Wintermoon.

Not at all like Wintermoon.

Damiana slept through the meal, so the four of them ate around the kitchen table, conversing quietly, catching up. First there was local news to tell, of Kate in Lowford and Lacey in Tambleham, and then their attention wandered to broader topics.

“Did you hear about the scandal in Wodenderry?” Angeline asked, shaking her head.

“No,” Fiona replied. She rarely bothered listening anymore when people talked of anything but illness and remedies. “What happened?”

“The queen and her baby son have fled the city!”

Fiona glanced at Thomas. “So you were right, then.”

He nodded. “I was not the brave Truth-Teller who informed the king that the baby was not his, but some reckless woman stepped forward and said that very thing. He had her taken into custody, to be tried for treason, but three more Truth-Tellers rushed to her defense and told the same tale.”

“So the king sent for the queen, to ask her for the truth in a public hearing, but she was already gone,” Angeline supplied. “
And
one of the king's guards with her. Thereby more or less proving the truth of the accusations.”

“What happened to that woman? The one the king imprisoned?” Fiona asked.

Thomas gave her a little smile, as if the question did her credit. “Released that day and given a gold ring by way of apology. Though I still don't think the king will be welcoming Truth-Tellers to his palace any time soon.”

“Does that mean Princess Lirabel will be named his heir after all?” Reed asked.

Thomas spread his hands. “King Marcus seems to be a most determined man. He may already be looking for a new queen.”

Angeline put her hands to her heart as if to stop its mad fluttering. “Time for me to head for the royal city and try to catch the eye of the king!”

“He might be looking for someone a little younger,” Thomas observed.

Angeline laughed. “Then I won't waste my time.”

“I'd like to see the royal city someday,” Reed said.

“And you should,” Thomas said. “It's a beautiful, wicked, holy, crowded, fascinating, and wonderful place.” He glanced at Fiona. “You should both go sometime.”

Fiona shook her head. “I'd rather stay right here.”

The next few days passed quite quietly, considering how many people were in the house. Thomas and Reed were mostly outside, doing heavy repairs to the shed out back and reframing one of the windows on the upper story of the house. Angeline took over Reed's job of sitting with Damiana most of the day. Fiona, who continued her tasks of cooking and cleaning, could occasionally hear their voices as she passed the doorway to her mother's room. Often, it was Angeline talking, telling light, meaningless stories designed to make Damiana smile; but sometimes Damiana was the one speaking, her voice very faint and low. Fiona did not need to ask what Damiana was telling her sister. She was passing on the secrets that needed to be kept, that someone must know even though the Safe-Keeper was gone. Angeline listened gravely, and nodded, and added the words to her own stores of secret knowledge.

One afternoon while Fiona was rolling out a pastry crust to make a meat pie for dinner, Angeline came from the sickroom. “Your mother would like a glass of water,” she said. “And she'd like you to take it to her.”

Fiona looked up, inquiring. “Is she feeling worse?”

Angeline shrugged. “Well enough to talk for a while. I think there are things she wants to tell you.”

Fiona did her best to brush the flour from her hands. “All right. Can you finish this?”

A few minutes later she carried the water into her mother's room. Damiana was sitting up in bed, looking pale but determined. Her dark hair was pulled back into a braid and her skin looked white and exposed. Her eyes were dark and hollowed, just now glittering with a hint of fever. But she smiled when Fiona came in.

“Something smells good,” Damiana said. “You must be making dinner.”

“Meat pie,” Fiona said, handing her the glass and sitting on one of the two chairs pulled up next to the bed. “Elminstra's recipe. Maybe you'll be hungry enough to eat some later.”

“I might just be,” Damiana agreed. “You've turned into such a good cook. And gardener. I'm amazed at everything you know and do.”

Fiona smiled. “Be more amazed at Reed and everything he's learned. Who'd have thought it of such a restless boy?”

Damiana sighed. “I wish I knew,” she said, “what you will both choose with your lives. That's what I regret most—having to leave before I have seen you both settled.”

“I'll be a Safe-Keeper and Reed will be—something different every year,” Fiona said. “And we'll both be happy and we'll both think of you every day.”

“Even if you don't choose to become a Safe-Keeper,” Damiana said slowly, “there is one secret you need to know.”

“Something I can never tell?” Fiona asked.

“You'll be able to tell it one day,” Damiana said. “And you'll know when.” And she leaned forward and whispered the secret in Fiona's ear.

Fiona listened and nodded, and then they both sat back. She tried to keep the expression on her face unchanging, but inside she was amazed and full of churning wonder. “And I can't even tell Reed?” she said.

“Not yet.”

“But I'll know when I can?”

“If you don't, Thomas will know.”

Now Fiona couldn't keep the displeasure from showing on her face. “Thomas knows this secret?”

Damiana shook her head. “Oh, no. I would not trust him to keep such a thing. But he'll know when it should no longer be a secret.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Fiona said formally.

Damiana smiled and reached over to squeeze Fiona's hand. Her grip was pitifully weak. “I would trust you with any secret,” she said.

Four days later, Damiana died. It was as if, after sharing all her information with Angeline and Fiona, she had nothing very important left to do, and so she began dozing for longer and longer hours and waking up
for shorter and shorter periods of time. Angeline, Reed, and Thomas took turns sitting in the room with her, holding her hand and watching the deepening serenity on her face. Fiona kept busy with the chores of the house, dropping by the sickroom now and then to see if anything was wanted, but not able to bear the idea of staying for longer than a few minutes. She did not understand how the others could wait with such patience for such an unwelcome guest; she did not want to be nearby when Death made his visit.

Elminstra came by twice a day, bringing teas and potions. Every time she left, she was quietly crying. The evening of that fourth day, while Angeline and Thomas sat with Damiana, the witch called Reed and Fiona together.

“It will be tonight,” she told them, her voice calm even though tears rolled down her smooth cheeks. “Say your good-byes to her, make it plain to her that you let her go. Or she may try to linger another day or two, and there's no purpose to that.”

“Is she still awake?” Fiona asked. “Can she understand us?”

Elminstra made an equivocal gesture with one hand. “Not really awake, not really sleeping. Can she hear you? I don't know. But I firmly believe she can sense you, can catch the echoes of your emotions. And she will know if you're not ready to let her go.”

Fiona looked to one side. “I'm not,” she said.

Reed put his arm around her. He was so tall now that she felt tiny next to him, a kitten protected by a playful but occasionally ferocious kitchen dog. “Yes, you are,” he said, and his voice was comforting. “We both are. You can do this.”

She looked up at him. “You'll have to do it,” she said.

The two of them ate dinner alone together, saying very little, then Fiona fixed plates for Angeline and Thomas. Hand in hand, she and Reed slowly walked to Damiana's room.

“We'll sit with her a while,” Reed announced. “You two go eat.”

Angeline stood up, her face apprehensive. Thomas rose to his feet more slowly. “Did she—what did Elminstra say when she left?” Angeline asked.

“She told us to make our good-byes,” Reed said gently.

A little sob escaped Angeline. Thomas nodded at them, his shadowed face looking stark with grief. “We have already done so,” he said, and wheeled and left the room. Angeline, crying silently, followed behind him.

Reed pushed Fiona forward and they took their places in the two chairs positioned beside the bed. Fiona took her mother's hand, since she was sitting closest to where the thin fingers lay, and Reed reached up to brush
the dark hair from Damiana's forehead. He nodded at Fiona, as if she must be the one to speak first.

“Elminstra told us—Elminstra said it was time to say—say good-bye,” Fiona said, her voice faltering. “You have taught us—everything you can—and we are grateful for all that. Every word. Every whisper. Every secret.” She tried to say more but the words wouldn't come. She looked over at Reed and shook her head. Her eyes burned and her chest was tight, but not a single tear would gather and fall.